Turning Eighteen, Part Seventeen

The next day was Monday, so Mr. Mendes had to get up for work. I'd been sleeping spooned up against him, but I rolled over and smiled when the alarm went off.“I’ll let the dog out and make you breakfast,” I told him as he groaned and hit the clock.He sat up and yawned before he looked at me. “You don’t have to get up now,” he said, yawning again. “I know you’re off this week.“That’s ok—I want to.”He smiled at that and leaned down to kiss me. “I’ll never say no to your cooking,” he murmured in my ear.I got up, pulled on a pair of sweats and went downstairs while he took a shower. Tybalt followed me down, so I let him out into the yard. I’d take him for a walk as soon as Mr. Mendes left.I found some challah bread in the cabinet—not many people know about challah, but it’s this really good braided bread. Like bagels, it’s Jewish. It’s just not main-stream yet. I learned about it in my cooking elective at the high school. Jews use it for Friday night dinners. That’s probably what Mr. Mendes meant when he was talking about ‘Shabbat dinner.” I’d have to remember that this Friday…I used the challah bread to make thick, buttery French toast. Ok, not the healthiest meal—especially since the challah was white. (I’d have to learn how to make wheat or oat challah.) But at least it was going to taste good.I made a quick apple-and-walnut side dish and squeezed some orange juice too. That made the meal a little healthier.I was all set by the time Mr. Mendes came down, but I cringed at the outfit he had on. Jesus, it was this hideous sweater. The color was all wrong for him. He’s a good looking guy, but he just doesn’t know how to dress. Fuck, it’s true—not all gay guys have fashion sense.I couldn’t let him go out the door like that. Should I say something? He had admitted before that he didn't know how to dress. And that I could help him in that. But did that mean he wanted instructions?I wasn't sure. So instead of speaking my mind, I, um, accidentally spilled some maple syrup on his sweater.“Shit!” I yelled. “Oh God, I’m sorry.”“That’s all right,” he said, dipping a napkin in his water.“No—just take the sweater off,” I told him. “I’ll get it clean. You can wear that cobalt one you have upstairs. That’ll go good with your outfit.”He gave me this suspicious look, but I just pretended to be innocent. It worked. He smiled in relief as he pulled off the sweater and handed it to me. “Thanks,” he said.I put the sweater aside and started cleaning up the dishes while he went back upstairs to change. When he came down, he tossed me his car keys. “In case you want to go anywhere,” he explained. “I’ll walk to school, but pick me up at three o’clock—it’s supposed to rain later.”I stared at him. “You trust me with your car?”He looked surprised at the question. “You have your license, right?”“Yeah,” I said. “I got it last year.”He shrugged. “Then you’re ok. Eventually we’ll have to cover you with my insurance, though—I’ll call about that today. You’re going to need to make this your legal address.”I was still in shock, but I think I managed to nod. I couldn’t believe that Mr. Mendes was trusting me. My Mom never let me touch her car—and neither did any of her boyfriends.In fact, I’d been saving up for one of my own. I’m not the best mechanic, so I didn’t want a used one. I wanted to buy something new.I think Mr. Mendes guessed how surprised I was. He walked over to me and took my face in his hands. “You’re a grown man, Jason,” he said softly. “Not just a kid. And you’ve held a decent job for a couple of years now. I don’t mind trusting you with the car.”He kissed me when he finished talking—a long, slow kiss. I smiled back at him when we broke apart.“I won’t get any tickets or anything,” I promised.He grinned. “The only thing I’m worried about with you is road rage,” he said. “Make sure you keep your temper under control.”“I will,” I said. “And I’ll be at the high school at three.”He nodded and then went to put on his coat. I walked him to the porch, so I could say goodbye. Then I went back inside, let the dog back in and ran upstairs to shower and change. I wanted to get ready quick so I could walk Tybalt and then take the car out.Everything went good. I drove to the craft store on Route 3 so that I could pick up some art supplies. I splurged on a good easel, pastels, water colors (to use as a wash for the background of the pastels) and all the paper and canvas I needed. The whole time I was shopping I kept thinking about the room I had waiting for me back at Mr. Mendes’s. He had told me that I should take one of the spare rooms and use it for a studio.That’s when I realized that I was fucking close to heaven. I mean, I’d have a room that would be just mine. I wouldn’t have to worry about my Mom coming in and snooping around or one of her boyfriends trashing the place when he was drunk.I wanted to set up my studio as soon as I got back, but when I took a good look at the spare rooms I knew I’d have to wait. I wanted the studio to be fucking perfect. None of the bedrooms was right.I went upstairs into the attic. It was a finished attic—it should be a big room on its own. But Mr. Mendes was using it for storage right now. There were crates and boxes and stuff everywhere.This is where my studio should go, I decided. We’d just have to store the junk someplace else. I closed my eyes, picturing what the attic would look like once I cleared it out and repainted the walls.Hopefully Mr. Mendes would say yes. If he didn't, I’d just have to settle on one of the spare bed rooms. But I was pretty sure I could make him see things my way.I went back downstairs to the bedroom—the main one, I mean. The one I shared with Mr. Mendes. I flopped down on the bed and put my hands behind my head. Then I glanced at the clock. It was almost noon.My mom would just be getting up now. She worked a late shift, so she slept late. If I wanted to call her, now would be a good time. I wondered if she was worried about me. Probably not—I mean, my aunt must have told her by now where I was.I should just forget about her, I told myself. She never had much use for me—I just got in the way of her boyfriends. And I had everything I ever wanted now. I had my own boyfriend who was perfect. Well, not perfect. He had no fashion sense. But he was still hot and at least he gave a damn about me. And he liked to spank me. In a good way, I mean.And I had a great house to live in, with a dog and everything. And I had an amazing kitchen—I had to keep it kosher, but it was still amazing—and pretty soon I’d have a studio.And I was even getting along with my cousin Kyle now. So what the fuck did I need my Mom for?Fuck it. I decided to just pick up the phone and call. I reached over and grabbed the phone that was on the night table and dialed my old home number.But looking back, I wish I had just left the phone alone.